SAM    D  A  V  I  S 

A  True  Story  of  a  Young  Confederate 
Soldier  Who  Was  Hanged  After 
Capture  Because  He  Would 
Not  Betray  a  Secret  of 
His  Commander 


THIS  STORY  OF  SAMUEL  DAVIS  WAS 
WRITTEN  BY  DR.  H.  M.  HAMIL,  AND  IS 
TRUE  IN  EVERY  DETAIL,  AND  PORTRAYS 
THE  INTENSE  FEELING  WHICH  EXISTED 
IN  THOSE  STIRRING  TIMES  WHICH  TRIED 
MEN'S  SOULS. 


PUBLISHED  BY 
J.  F.  THOM  PSON 
GRIFFIN,  GA. 


PRESS  OF 
THE  MILLS  PRINTING  CO. 
Griffin,  Ga. 


THE  BOY  HERO  OF  THE  WAR 


And  lo  !  thy  matchless  boy,  O  Tennessee  ! 
With  pinioned  arms  beneath  the  gallows  tree, 
Looked  forth,  unmoved,  into  the  wintry  skies, 
The  nut-brown  ringlets  falling  o'er  his  eyes ; 
He,  by  kind  gaolers,  had  been  oft  implored : 
''Speak  but  one  word  !   To  freedom  be  restored  !" 
The  lifted  signal,  "Hold,"  the  messenger  cried ; 
And,  springing  up,  stood  by  the  hero's  side. 
"My  boy  !   This  bitter  cup  must  pass  you  by ! 
Too  brave,  too  noble,  and  too  young  to  die ! 
Your  mother,  father,  sisters — when  they  learn — 
Even  now,  perhaps,  they  wait  your  long  return. 
Speak  out !   Life  is  so  sweet !  Be  free  once  more  !" 
'Tis  he  should  bear  this  penalty  and  shame. 
Live  for  your  mother !   Think  a  moment  how" — 
"Not  with  the  brand  of  fraud  upon  my  brow ! 
I  and  the  'culprit/  true,  might  both  go  free ; 
The  broken  pledge  would  haunt  not  him,  but  me. 
How  light  soever  what  promise  man  may  make, 
Should  be  kept  sacred  for  his  honor's  sake ! 
My  mother !" 

(And  choking  back  the  sob,  but  half  concealed, 

His  head  drooped  low  !   At  last  must  nature  yield  ?) 

"My  mother !"  flashed  again  the  tear-dimmed  eyes. 

"At  her  dear  knees  she  taught  me  how  to  die ! 

Her  loving  heart  would  be  too  sorely  pained 

If  to  her  lips  were  pressed  her  boy's  with  falsehood  stained." 

"My  brave,  brave  boy,"  the  pleader  spoke  again ; 

"A  boy  in  years,  but  worth  a  thousand  men 

Like  him  for  whom,  the  coward,  traitor,  knave, 

You'd  lay  your  own  brave,  young  life  down  to  save. 

Speak  out !   Life  is  so  sweet !   Be  free  ance  more !" 

"I  never  knew  how  sweet  life  was  before ! 

Still — words  are  useless,  General,  but  forgive — 

You're  kind ;  yet  if  I  had  a  thousand  lives  to  live, 

I'd  give  them  all  ere  I  could  face  the  shame 

And  wear,  for  one  hour,  a  base,  dishonored  name." 

The  die  was  cast !   Our  tears  were  idle  tears 

For  him,  who  gave  one  day  and  gained  a  thousand  years ! 

Centuries  on  centuries  shall  go  circling  by, 

But  still  he  is  not  dead  !   SAM  DAVIS  cannot  die  ! 


SAM  DAVIS 

THE  STORY  OF  AN  OLD  FASHIONED  BOY. 


SAM  Davis  was  his  name.  He  was  born  on  a  farm  near 
the  little  town  of  Smyrna,  Tenn.  His  parents  were  old- 
fashioned  people,  God-fearing,  simple-mannered,  neither 
rich  nor  poor ;  and  Sam  grew  up  in  the  quiet  ways  of  the 
Southern  country  boy.  Just  as  he  had  passed  out  of  his  teens,  and 
was  yet  a  big  boy  in  face  and  spirit,  he  died  on  the  gallows  at 
Pulaski,  Tenn.,  in  the  presence  of  Gen.  Dodge's  Corps  of  Fed- 
erals. 

Sam  spent  his  boyhood  days  in  the  fields  and  under  the  great 
trees  of  his  father's  farm,  companion  with  mocking  bird  and  bee 
and  butterfly,  and  with  the  patient  brutes  that  serve  the  farmer's 
need.  There  was  no  hint  of  the  hero  to  come  in  the  peaceful, 
humdrum  life  of  the  farm.  True,  tjie  war  clouds  were  gathering 
above  and  the  air  was  becoming  electric  with  exciting  speech  and 
prophecy ;  and  in  every  village  was  springing  up  a  holiday  sol- 
diery, parading  in  glittering  uniform  to  the  sound  of  fife  and 
drum. 

Out  of  the  tenseness  of  these  stirring  years  that  ushered  in  the 
great  war  Sam's  strange  heroism  may  have  been  fashioned;  but  I 
prefer  to  trace  it  back  to  the  old-fashioned  mother  and  father  and 
the  simple,  sincere  life  of  the  boy  of  the  Rutherford  County  farm. 
Somehow  the  old  fable  of  Antaeus's  strength  coming  back  to  him 
only  when  in  contact  with  mother  earth  is  often  confirmed  in  the 
strength  and  heroism  of  the  men  who  have  come  to  greatness 
from'  the  life  of  the  farm. 

When  the  war  finally  came,  and  drum  and  fife  and  soldier  in  a 
twinkling  were  transformed  into  the  machinery  of  real  battle,  Sam 


4 


SAM  DAVIS 


put  aside  his  schoolbooks  at  Nashville,  and  bade  good-by  to  the 
two  teachers  who,  as  Generals  Bushrod  Johnson  and  Edmund 
Kirby  Smith,  became  distinguished  soldiers  of  the  Confederacy. 
He  enlisted  as  a  private  in  the  1st  Tennessee  Infantry,  and  soon 
found  place  of  drudgery  and  danger  in  the  army  of  General  Bragg. 

The  life  of  the  private  soldier  anywhere  or  at  any  time  in  real 
warfare  is  not  a  pathway  of  roses.  Least  of  all,  as  the  writer  of 
his  own  experience  can  testify,  was  it  a  place  of  comfort  in  the 


Sam's  Mother 


armies  of  the  South.  The  flags  that  flashed  forth  their  stars  and 
bars  so  bravely  were  soon  blackened  by  smoke  and  rent  by  bullet. 
The  bright  uniforms  soon  bore  the  marks  of  the  clay  hills  and  the 
camp  fires  and  grew  tarnished  and  torn.  Even  the  martial  music 
changed  its  note  from  the  sparkle  and  rush  of  the  "Bonnie  Blue 
Flag"  and  the  "Girl  I  Left  Behind  Me"  to  the  minor  tones  of 
"The  Years  Creep  Slowly  By,  Lorena." 

General  Bragg,  whatever  criticism  may  be  put  upon  his  gen- 
eralship, was  an  insistent  fighter,  and  his  men  were  used  to  being 


SAM  DAVIS 


5 


in  the  thick  of  battle.  It  was  so  with  our  boy  Sam.  The  peace 
and  beauty  of  the  Smyrna  farm  gave  place  to  the  wearisome 
tramjp,  the  pangs  of  hunger,  the  cries  of  the  wounded,  and  the 
pale  faces  of  the  dead.    Those  who  knew  the  boy  speak  much  of 


Sam's  Father 

his  courage  and  faithfulness.  "His  record  was  such,"  writes 
one,  "that,  when  Bragg  ordered  the  organization  of  a  company 
of  scouts  by  Gen.  B.  F.  Cheatham,  Sam  Davis  was  chosen  as  one 
of  the  number  because  of  his  coolness  and  daring  and  power  of 
endurance."  Capt.  H.  B.  Shaw  was  given  command  of  these 
scouts,  and  the  field  of  their  earlier  endeavor  was  Middle  Ten- 
nessee, which  in  1863  was  practically  in  the  hands  of  the  Fed- 
erals. 

Captain  Shaw  assumed  a  disguise  within  the  Federal  lines,  pos- 
ing as  an  itinerant  doctor  and  bearing  the  name  of  "Dr.  E.  Cole- 
man" among  the  Federals  and  of  "Capt.  E.  Coleman,  Command- 
er of  Scouts,"  among  the  Confederates,  even  in  his  official  commu- 
nications to  General  Bragg,  this  double  deception  being  deemed 
necessary  to  the  prosecution  of  his  dangerous  duty  as  a  spy. 
Scout  or  spy,  whatever  the  term  applied,  one  who  enters  the  lines 
of  the  enemy  to  secretly  gather  information  for  use  of  the  oppos- 


6 


SAM  DAVIS 


ing  army  under 'the  rules  of  warfare  becomes  a  "spy,"  and  if 
caught  is  executed  as  a  spy.  There  is  no  mawkish  sentiment  in 
war,  and  small  mercy  is  shown  one  who  seeks  to  discover  the  se- 
crets of  the  enemy. 

But,  as  with  Major  Andre  of  the  Revolution  and  with  many 
others,  the  occupation  of  scout  and  spy  is  a  necessity  of  warfare 
to  which  any  soldier  is  liable  and  upon  which  no  just  odium  can 
be  cast.  No  soldier  of  the  Revolution,  from  Washington  down, 
condemned  the  gallant  young  officer  who,  under  military  law, 
died  bravely  as  a  spy.  On  the  contrary,  one  who,  under  the  hard 
usage  of  the  camp,  is  commissioned  as  a  military  spy  is  usually 
chosen  because  of  superior  intelligence,  courage,  and  devotion  to 
his  army  and  colors.  His  vocation  is  full  of  deadly  peril  by  day 
and  by  night.  If  caught,  he  usually  dies  by  the  most  ignominious 
death  under  conditions  that  inspire  contempt  in  the  spectators,  to 
the  end  that  swift  judgment  and  odious  death  may  deter  men  from 
seeking  the  office  of  the  spy.  Over  his  supreme  self-sacrifice  the 
epitaph  is  commonly  written,  "Died  on  the  gallows  as  a  spy," 
without  those  added  words  which  justice  demands :  "Under 
military  appointment  and  for  his  country's  cause." 

It  fell  to  the  lot  of  my  Tennessee  hero  to  be  assigned  to  "Cap- 


Captain  Shaw 


tain  Coleman's  Scouts"  and  given  a  place  of  peculiar  difficulty 
and  danger,  soon  to  terminate  in  death.  The  appointing  officer 
said  it  was  the  "boy's  record"  that  gave  prominence  and  promo- 


SAM  DA  VIS 


7 


tion  to  one  so  young.  He  had  learned  as  a  country  boy  two  hard 
lessons  that  few  men  learn  in  a  lifetime :  to  fear  nothing  and  no- 
body but  God,  and  to  obey  orders.  He  had  a  peculiarly  bright 
and  winning  way  about  him,  an  utterly  fearless  eye,  a  frank  and 
gentle  speech,  and  the  self-poise  of  a  great  soul.  Next  to  his 
God,  above  even  his  tender  love  for  his  mother  and  home,  Sam 
cherished  that  old-time  sense  of  "honor"  so  sacred  among  the 
traditions  of  the  old  South,  when  one's  "word  of  honor"  meant 
more  than  wealth  or  fame  or  life  itself.  Do  not  confuse  this 
honor  with  that  other  folly  of  Southern  hotspurs — the  dishonor 
of  the  code  duello,  long  ago  in  disgrace  among  the  sons  of  those 


Group  of  Veterans  Where  Sam  Was  Executed. 


who  condoned  its  brutality,  the  one  thing  in  its  defense  being  that 
by  sight  and  sound  of  pistol  it  compelled  a  certain  class  of  men  to 
be  more  circumspect  in  what  they  said  and  did.  The  honor  which 
gives  my  hero  place  among  the  imlmortals  was  of  the  kind  that 
sought  not  the  life  of  another  in  revenge,  but  gave  one's  life  in 
devotion  to  duty. 

In  November,  1863,  the  16th  Army  Corps,  under  Gen.  G.  M. 
Dodge,  was  centered  at  Pulaski,  Tenn.,  not  far  from  the  Tennes- 
see River  and  the  Alabama  line.  General  Dodge  had  started  from 
Corinth,  Miss.,  to  Chattanooga,  Tenn.,  to  re-enforce  General 


8 


SAM  DAVIS 


Grant.  On  all  roads  his  cavalry  kept  sharp  lookout,  especially  to 
break  to  pieces  the  Coleman  band  of  scouts,  who  were  here  and 
there,  watching-  every  movement  of  the  Federals,  and  by  persist- 
ent and  accurate  reports  to  General  Bragg  were  making  havoc 
of  General  Dodge's  peace  and  plans — so  much  so  that  the  General 
put  on  its  mettle  the  famous  Kansas  7th  Cavalry,  nicknamed  the 
"Jayhawkers,"  to  run  to  earth  and  capture  Coleman  and  his 
scouts.  So  active  and  alert  was  the  entire  corps  that  capture  was 
at  most  a  matter  of  a  few  days  only. 

Captain  Shaw,  alias  Coleman,  summoned  Davis  and  committed 
to  his  care  certain  papers,  letters,  reports,  and  maps  giving  late 
and  important  news  to  General  Bragg.  In  his  shoes  and  in  the 
saddle  seat  were  hidden  the  dangerous  documents ;  and  Sam,  with 
Coleman's  pass,  started  southward  to  Decatur,  thence  to  take  the 
"scout  line"  to  the  headquarters  of  General  Bragg.  His  last  route 
began  and  ended  Thursday,  November  19.  Run  down  and  ar- 
rested at  the  Tennessee  River  by  the  "Jayhawkers,"  along  with 
other  prisoners  he  was  hurried  to  Pulaski,  and  by  night  was  in 
jail.  Elsewhere,  on  the  same  day,  Captain  Shaw  himself  was 
captured  and  imprisoned  also  in  the  town.  Davis's  papers  and 
reports  were  placed  in  the  hands  of  General  Dodge,  who  twice 
had  him  brought  to  his  headquarters,  urging  him  in  strong  but 
kindly  way  to  disclose  the  name  of  the  one  who  had  committed  to 
him  the  captured  papers. 

It  is  worth  while  to  know  who  General  Dodge  was,  and  what 
he 'thought  of  the  young  fellow  whose  life  was  now  in  the  Gen- 
eral's hands.  Dodge  was  born  in  Massachusetts,  and  is  yet  living 
in  Iowa,  to  which  State  at  twenty  he  removed.  At  the  breaking 
out  of  the  Civil  War  he  was  made  colonel  of  the  4th  Iowa  Infan- 
try, and  later  brigadier  general.  He  was  a  close  and  trusted 
friend  of  General  Grant,  and  was  chosen  grand  marshal  of  the 
Grant  monument  parade  in  New  York  City  in  1897.  For  many 
years  after  the  war  he  was  a  resident  of  New  York  as  capitalist 
of  large  affairs  and  citizen  of  distinguished  ability. 

As  shown  throughout  the  Davis  tragedy,  General  Dodge  was 
proven  to  have  been  a  man  of  kindly  spirit.  Something  about 
the  Tennessee  boy  evidently  touched  the  General's  heart.  Only 
recently  he  wrote  at  length  to  the  Confederate  Veteran,  pay- 


SAM  DA  VIS 


9 


ing  long-cherished  tribute  to  Davis's  memory.  He  says  of  him 
that  "he  was  a  fine,  soldierly-looking  young  man,  dressed  in  a 
faded  Federal  coat,  an  army  soft  hat,  and  top-boots;  he  had  a 
fresh,  open  face,  which  was  inclined  to  brightness ;  in  all  things 
he  showed  himself  a  true  soldier ;  it  was  known  by  all  the  com- 
mand that  I  desired  to  save  him.  I  appreciate  fully  that  the  peo- 
ple of  the  South  and  Davis's  comrades  understand  his  soldierly 
qualities,  and  propose  to  honor  his  memory.  I  take  pleasure  in 
contributing  to  a  monument  to  his  memory."  And  with  it  came 
the  General's  personal  check.  Of  Davis's  arrest  and  trial  he  fur- 
ther writes :  "I  was  very  anxious  to  capture  Coleman  and  break 
up  his  command."  (General  Dodge  did  not  know,  nor  did  any 
Confederate  prisoner  in  the  Pulaski  jail  give  the  slightest  hint, 
that  the  "H.  B.  Shaw"  captured  the  same  day  as  Davis,  and  prob- 
ably prisoner  in  the  same  building  with  him,  was  the  veritable 
"Coleman"  himself.)  "I  had  Davis  brought  before  m)e.  His 
captors  knew  that  he  was  a  member  of  Coleman's  Scouts,  and  I 
knew  what  was  found  upon  him,  and  desired  to  locate  Coleman 
and  ascertain,  if  possible,  who  was  furnishing  information  so  ac- 
curate and  valuable  to  General  Bragg.  Davis  met  me  modestly. 
I  tried  to  impress  on  him  the  danger  he  was  in,  and  as  only  a  mes- 
senger I  held  out  to  him  the  hope  of  lenient  treatment  if  he  would 
answer  truthfully  my  questions.  I  informed  him  that  he  would 
be  tried  as  a  spy  and  the  evidence  would  surely,  convict  him,  and 
I  made  a  direct  appeal  to  him  to  give  me  the  information  I  knew 
he  had.  He  very  quietly  but  firmly  refused  to  do  it.  I  pleaded 
with  him  with  all  the  power  I  possessed  to  give  me  some  chance 
to  save  his  life.  I  discovered  that  he  was  a  most  admirable  young 
fellow,  with  the  highest  character  and  strictest  integrity.  He  re- 
plied :  'I  know,  General,  that  I  will  have  to  die ;  but  I  will  not  tell 
where  I  got  the  information,  and  there  is  no  power  on  earth  that 
can  make  me  tell.  You  are  doing  your  duty  as  a  soldier,  and  if  I 
have  to  die  I  shall  be  doing  my  duty  to  God  and  my  country.'  " 

There  was  nothing  more  that  General  Dodge  could  do.  A  mil- 
itary commission  was  convened  within  three  days,  which  tried 
Davis  and  sentenced  him  as  a  spy  to  death  on  the  gallows  Friday, 
November  27,  between  the  hours  of  10  a.  m.  and  2  p.  m. — one 
week  from  the  day  of  his  capture.   You  may  be  sure  it  was  a  long 


10  SAM  DAVIS 

and  lonely  week  to  the  brave  boy,  especially  those  last  three  days 
chat  intervened  between  his  sentence  and  the  day  of  doom.  Some- 
how, though  not  strangely,  there  sprang  up  in  all  hearts  an  ever- 
increasing  interest  in  one  who  by  a  single  word  could  open  the 


View  Showing  Location  of  Monument. 


door  of  his  prison,  yet  chose  to  die  in  place  of  another  "for  duty's 
sake."  With  "Coleman"  probably  in  touch  of  his  hand  and  sound 
of  his  voice,  he  gave  no  sign  or  hint  of  his  identity.  "He  is 
worth  more  to  the  Confederacy  than  me,"  he  said.  I  doubt  it. 
The  more  I  think  of  it  after  so  many  years  have  passed,  the  great- 
er is  the  wonder  that  Shaw,  alias  Coleman,  did  not  unmask  and 
save  the  life  of  one  who  was  sacrificing  life  for  him.    Hard  by 


SAM  DAVIS 


11 


the  light  that  will  ever  shine  upon  Sam's  pale  face  in  this  shadow 
that  lies  heavy  on  the  face  of  his  Captain. 

Again  and  again  Federal  soldiers  sought  Sam  in  his  cell,  plead- 
ing with  him  to  disclose  the  informer's  name  and  save  his  own 
life.  Chaplain  James  Young,  of  the  81st  Ohio  Infantry,  was  his 
constant  visitor  and  comforter,  to  whom  the  last  messages  and 
tokens  were  committed  for  delivery  to  his  home.  On  the  last 
morning,  "for  remembrance'  sake."  Sam  gave  him  the  Federal 
overcoat  that  his  mother  had  dyed,  which  Mr.  Young  lovingly 
kept  until,  in  his  seventy-third  year,  not  long  before  his  death,  he 
sent  it  to  the  Confederate  Veteran,  saying:  "My  promised  re- 
membrance is  fulfilled.  I  am  seveny-three  years  old,  and  could 
not  reasonably  expect  to  care  for  it  much  longer.  I  have  cut  off  a 
smjall  button  from  the  cape,  which  I  will  keep.  The  night  before 
he  died  we  sang  together  'On  Jordan's  stormy  banks  I  stand,'  and, 
as  he  desired,  I  was  with  him  constantly,  and  at  the  end  I  prayed 
with  and  for  him."  Dear  old  Chaplain!  He  and  Sam  are  to- 
gether now  under  brighter  skies  with  the  Master  whom  they 
served. 

Provost  Marshal  Armstrong,  who  had  charge  of  prison  and 
gallows,  became  Sam's  ardent  friend,  and,  rough  soldier  though 
he  was,  could  scarcely  perform  his  painful  duty.  Captain  Chicka- 
saw, Chief  of  Dodge's  Scouts,  also  took  a  strong  liking  to  the  boy, 
and  made  a  last  effort  to  save  him. 

I  have  at  my  side  a  copy  of  a  faded  little  war  paper  issued 
from  the  camp  of  Dodge's  Corps,  and  it  gives  the  Federal  account 
of  Davis's  last  hours  on  earth.  "Last  Friday,"  it  reads,  "the  citi- 
zens and  soldiery  of  Pulaski  witnessed  one  of  those  painful  exe- 
cutions of  stern  justice  which  make  war  so  terrible;  and  though 
sanctioned  by  its  usages,  it  is  no  more  than  brave  men  in  their 
country's  service  expose  themselves  to  every  day."  Then  it  goes 
on  with  its  generous  tribute  to  the  young  hero  whom  the  bravest 
soldier  might  look  upon  with  pride  even  upon  the  gallows. 

I  do  not  like  to  draw  the  last  living  picture  of  my  boy.  But 
Friday  morning  came  all  too  swiftly,  and  at  ten  o'clock  sharp  the 
drums  were  beating,  the  execution  guard  under  Marshal  Arm- 
strong was  marching  to  the  jail,  while  the  soldiers  of  the  16th 
Corps  by  the  thousands,  with  muskets  in  hand,  were  being  mar- 


12 


SAM  DAVIS 


shaled  in  line  about  Seminary  Ridge,  where  the  gallows  was  up- 
reared  in  waiting.  A  wagon,  with  a  rough  pine  coffin,  on  which 
Sam  Davis  sat,  headed  the  march.  In  sight  of  his  fellow-prison- 
ers Sam  waved  his  good-by  with  a  smiling  face,  and  at  the  gal- 
lows dismounted  and  sat  under  a  tree,  unfalteriegly  looking  above 
at  the  swinging  noose  and  around  at  the  sympathetic  faces  of  the 
soldiers. 

"How  long  have  I  to  live,  Captain  Armstrong?"  he  inquired. 
"About  fifteen  minutes,  Sam." 

"What  is  the  news  from  the  front?"  And  Armstrong  told  him 
of  General  Bragg's  battle  and  defeat.  "Thank  you,  Captain ;  but 
I'm  sorry  to  hear  it."  And  then,  with  one  last  quaver  in  his 
voice  of  loving  remembrance  of  his  comrades  in  gray,  said :  "The 
boys  will  have  to  fight  their  battles  without  me." 

Captain  Armstrong  broke  down.  "Sam,  I  would  rather  die 
myself  than  execute  sentence  upon  you." 

"Never  mind,  Captain,"  was  the  gentle  reply.  *4You  are  doing 
your  duty.    Thank  you  for  all  your  kindness." 

It  was  then  that  Captain  Chickasaw  came  swiftly  on  horse,  and, 
leaping  to  the  ground,  sat  himself  by  Sam  and  pleaded  in  that 
last  fierce  moment  of  youth  for  the  word  of  information  that 
would  send  him  to  his  home  in  freedom. 

Sam  arose  to  his  feet  and,  with  flashing  eye  and  uplifted  face, 
made  his  last  answer :  "No,  I  cannot.  I  would  rather  die  a  thou- 
sand deaths  than  betray  a  friend  or  be  false  to  duty." 

A  Federal  officer,  who  was  looking  into  Sam's  face,  wrote  of 
him  long  after  in  the  Omaha  Bee :  "The  boy  looked  about  him. 
Life  was  young  and  promising.  Overhead  hung  the  noose; 
around  him  were  soldiers  in  line ;  at  his  feet  was  a  box  prepared 
for  his  body,  now  pulsing  with  young  and  vigorous  life ;  in  front 
were  the  steps  that  would  lead  him  to  disgraceful  death,  and  that 
death  it  was  in  his  power  to  so  easily  avoid.  For  just  an  instant 
he  hesitated,  and  then  put  aside  forever  the  tempting  offer.  Thus 
ended  a  tragedy  wherein  a  smooth-faced  boy,  without  counsel,  in 
the  midst  of  enemies,  with  courage  of  highest  type,  deliberately 
chose  death  to  life  secured  by  means  he  thought  dishonorable!" 

The  steps  to  the  gallows  were  firmly  mounted,  and  Sam's  last 
words,  "I  am  ready,  Captain,"  followed  the  Chaplain's  prayer—- 


SAM  DAVIS 


IS 


when  in  a  moment  ne  had  passed  through  the  gates  of  death  to 
take  his  place  forever  among  the  heroes  of  the  Southland. 

In  his  memory  a  costly  and  beautiful  monument,  surmounted 
by  a  bronze  figure  of  the  boy,  has  been  erected  in  Capitol  Park, 
in  the  heart  of  Nashville.  From  every  State  in  the  Union,  from 
Blue  and  Gray,  from  rich  and  poor,  the  money  to  build  the  monu- 
ment was  contributed  upon  the  plea  of  Editor  S.  A.  Cunningham, 
of  the  Confederate  Veteran,  whose  conception  it  was ;  and 
many  thousands  will  bow  their  heads  on  dedication  day  in  loving 
memory  of  the  hero  of  Tennessee.  Sometime,  when  you  are  pass- 
ing through  Nashville,  take  a  moment  to  look  upon  the  noble 
bronze  face,  and  then  visit  the  old  Smyrna  home  and  in  the  garden 
see  the  grave  of  Sam  as  he  sleeps  by  the  side  of  his  mother  and 
father.  And  if  you  care  to  put  them  in  your  scrapbook,  take  the 
words  of  Ella  Wheeler  Wilcox  from  the  bronze  tablet  on  the 
monument. 


1  SAM  DAVIS  J 

r-   WHEN  THE  LORD  CALLS  UP  EARTH'S  HEROES,  ^ 

TO  STAND  BEFQRE  HIS  FACE,  ~ 

~  V'q/many  a  name,  unknown  TO  FAME  -  ~ 

SHALL  RING  FROM  THAT  HIGH  PLACE;  ~ 
-  THEN  OUT  OF  A  GRAVE  I N  T  H  E~  SOUTH  LA  NO 

~      AT  THE  JUST  GOD'S  CALL  AfiD  BECK,  * 

- SHALL  ONE  MAHJ  RISEu  WiTH  -;  FEARLESS  'EYES  '  *> 
"£;';,       WiTH^A  RGPE  ABOUT  H1S  NECK; 
~   *    0.  SO-UT-HLA-NOY * 

2  AMD  ADD  YOUR  W^EATHy  0  NORTHUy,;-  ^ 
2      LET GLORY  CLAIM  THE  HEftVs^AME 

~       A^D  TELL  fHE  WORLD  H I £ i'WO RT H .  * 


14 


SAM  DAVIS 


PUBLISHED  IN  FEDERAL  PAPER  AT  TIME  OF  SAM'S 

DEATH. 

(The  Nashville  American  copies  an  article  from  the  Pulaski 
Chanticleer  of  December  2,  1863.  It  was  a  paper  edited  by  C.  W. 
Hildreth  and  devoted  to  the  interests  of  the  left  wing  of  the  16th 
Army  Corps.) 

Last  Friday  the  citizens  and  soldiers  of  Pulaski  witnessed  one 
of  those  painful  executions  of  stern  justice  which  make  war  so 
horrible;  and  though  sanctioned  by  the  usages  of  war,  it  is  no 
more  than  men  in  the  service  of  their  country  expose  themselves 
to  every  day,  Samuel  Davis,  of  Coleman's  Scouts,  having  been 
found  within  the  Federal  lines  with  dispatches  and  mails  destined 
for  the  enemy,  was  tried  on  the  charge  of  being  a  spy,  and,  being 
found  guilty,  was  condemned  to  be  hanged  between  the  hours  of 
10  a.  m.  and  6  p.  m.  on  Friday,  November  27,  1863.  The  prisoner 
was  apprised  of  his  sentence  by  Captain  Armstrong,  local  provost 
marshal ;  and  though  somewhat  surprised  at  the  sentence  of  death, 
he  did  not  manifest  any  outward  signs  of  agitation. 

Chaplain  Young,  of  the  81st  Ohio  Infantry,  visited  the  prison- 
er and  administered  spiritual  consolation.  The  prisoner  express- 
ed himself  resigned  to  his  fate  and  perfectly  prepared  to  die.  He 
exhibited  a  firmness  unusual  for  one  of  his  age,  and  up  to  the  last 
showed  a  lively  inteerst  in  the  news  of  the  day,  expressing  regret 
when  told  of  the  defeat  of  General  Brass. 

The  scaffold  for  the  execution  of  the  prisoner  was  built  upon 
the  rirge,  east  side  of  town,  near  the  seminary,  a  position  which 
could  be  seen  from  any  part  of  the  town. 

At  precisely  10  a.  m.  the  prisoner  was  taken  from,  his  cell,  his 
hands  tied  behind  him,  and,  accompanied  by  the  chaplain  of  the 
81st  Ohio  Volunteers,  was  placed  in  a  wagon,  seated  upon  his 
coffin,  and  conveyed  to  the  scaffold.  Provost  Marshal  Armstrong 
conducted  the  proceedings.  At  precisely  five  minutes  past  ten 
o'clock  the  wagon  containing  the  prisoner  and  the  guards  entered 
the  hollow  square  formed  by  the  troops,  in  the  center  Of  which 
was  the  scaffold.  The  prisoner  then  stepped  from  the  wagon  and 
seated  himself  upon  a  bench  at  the  foot  of  the  scaffold.  He  dis- 
played great  firmness,  glancing  casually  at  his  coffin  as  it  was 


SAM  DAVIS 


15 


taken  from  the  wagon.  Turning  to  Captain  Armstrong,  he  in- 
quired how  long  he  had  to  live,  and  was  told  that  he  had  just  fif- 
teen minutes.  He  then  remarked :  "We  would  have  to  fight  the 
rest  of  the  battles  alone."  (This  awkward  expression  is  evidently 
an  error.  A  quotation  from  his  associates  is  as  follows :  "The 
boys  will  have  to  fight  the  rest  of  the  battles  without  me." — 
Editor) 

Captain  Armstrong:  "I  am  sorry  to  be  compelled  to  perform 
this  painful  duty." 

Prisoner  with  a  smile:  "It  does  not  hurt  me,  Captain.  I  am 
innocent,  though  I  am  prepared  to  die,  and  do  not  think  hard  of 
it!" 

Captain  Chickasaw  then  asked  the  prisoner  if  it  would  not  have 
been  better  for  him  to  have  accepted  the  offer  of  life  upon  the 
disclosure  of  the  facts  in  his  possession,  when  the  prisoner  an- 
swered with  much  indignation :  "Do  you  suppose  I  would  betray 
a  friend?   No,  sir;  I  would  rather  die  a  thousand  times  first." 

He  was  then  questioned  upon  other  matters,  but  refused  to  give 
any  information  which  would  be  of  service. 

The  prisoner  then  mounted  the  scaffold,  accompanied  by  the 
chaplain,  James  Young,  whom  he  requested  to  pray  with  him  at 
his  execution.  The  prisoner  then  stepped  upon  the  trap,  the  rope 
was  adjusted  about  his  neck,  and  the  cap  drawn  over  his  head.  In 
a  moment  the  trap  was  sprung,  and  the  prisoner  fell  suspended  in 
the  air.  For  a  few  moments  he  struggled  with  his  hands  and  feet ; 
this  was  succeeded  by  a  slight  quivering  of  the  body,  which  ceased 
at  three  and  one-half  minutes  from  the  time  he  fell.  After  being 
suspended  seventeen  and  one-half  minutes,  the  officiating  surgeon, 
D.  W.  Voyles,  of  the  6th  Indiana  Infantry  Volunteers,  pronounced 
the  prisoner  dead,  and  he  was  cut  down  and  placed  in  his  coffin. 
It  was  supposed  from  the  protracted  animation  which  the  prisoner 
exhibited  that  the  fall  had  not  broken  his  neck  and  that  he  died  by 
strangulatian,  but  upon  subsequent  examination  his  neck  was 
found  to  be  completely  broken. 

So  fell  one  whom  the  fate  of  war  cut  down  early  in  youth  and 
who  exhibited  traits  of  character  which  under  other  circumstances 
might  have  made  him  a  remarkable  friend  and  member  of  society. 


16 


SAM  DAVIS 


ADDRESS  BY  GOV.  PATTERSON  AT  UNVEILING  OF 
DAVIS  MONUMENT. 

Ladies  and  Gentlemen  of  the  Commission,  Fellow-Citizens : 
When  a  boy  in  school  at  Nashville  I  witnessed  the  ceremonies  of 
the  dedication  of  another  figure  in  bronze  on  the  other  side  of 
this  picturesque  hill,  and  well  do  I  recall  the  awe  and  rapture  of 
imaginative  youth  as  my  eyes  beheld  for  the  first  time  a  heroic 
figure  on  horseback — an  incarnate  force  of  action.  The  man  and 
the  horse  seemed  born  one  for  the  other — the  one  a  master  with 
the  erect  and  easy  grace  of  martial  bearing  and  conscious  power 
of  rule,  the  other  as  if  proud  to  bear  his  weight,  restive  for  ac- 
tion and  breathing  the  very  fire  of  war. 

Little  did  I  think  then,  even  in  the  daydreams  of  youth,  that  one 
day  as  Governor  I  would  be  called  upon  to  accept  in  the  name  of 
the  State  another  figure  in  bronze  erected  on  this  side  of  the 
grounds,  not  of  a  man  on  horseback,  but  of  a  young  man  scarcely 
more  than  a  boy,  who  belonged  to  another  and  later  age  of  our 
history,  who  stands  without  the  marks  and  accoutrements  of 
rank,  without  any  other  sign  save  that  of  a  soldier  ready  to  fight 
and  ready  to  die.  The  name  and  fame  of  Andrew  Jackson  fill  the 
mind  with  wonder  and  admiration ;  the  memory  of  Sam  Davis, 
with  infinite  love  and  tenderness. 

This  tablet  in  front  records  on  its  enduring  face  the  fact  that 
Sam  Davis  was  born  on  October  6,  1842,  near  Murfreesboro,  in 
Rutherford  County,  Tenn.  His  life  was  short.  It  scarcely  began 
to  unfold  before  it  ended  on  the  scaffold  at  Pulaski  on  the  morn- 
ing of  November  27,  1863.  Sprung  from  a  splendid  race,  he  was 
of  a  large  family  of  children,  and  grew  from  infancy  to  youth  in 
the  purest  of  all  atmospheres,  that  of  a  Southern  country  home, 
presided  over  by  a  Southern  wife  and  mother. 

From  a  gentleman  who  knew  Sam  Davis  well  and  who  married 
one  of  his  sisters  I  have  this  information  as  to  his  appearance  and 
some  of  his  characteristics.  He  seemed  to  have  filled  every  con- 
ception of  the  flower  and  chivalry  of  young  manhood,  and  his  very 
presence  was  suggestive  of  romance  and  valorous  deeds.  His 
habits  were  pure,  his  affections  strong,  his  disposition  singularly 
quiet  and  reticent.   In  stature  he  was  just  six  feet  tall,  slender  and 


SAM  DA  VIS 


17 


finely  proportioned,  with  regular  features  and  an  expression  of 
mingled  strength  and  refinement.  His  eyes  were  dark  and  aglow 
with  intelligence,  his  hair  almost  black,  his  figure  erect  as  if  it 
scorned  the  low  and  base,  his  manners  gentle  as  become  the 
brave. 

After  receiving  some  education  at  home  and  in  his  native  coun- 
ty, Sam  Davis  was  sent  to  the  old  Military  Institute  at  Nashville, 
and  while  there  he  heard  the  sound  to  arms,  which  reverberated 
from  every  mountain  side,  swept  over  every  plain,  and  echoed  in 
every  valley  as  the  South  called  for  her  sons  to  rally  in  defense 
of  home  and  native  land.  And  they  came.  They  came  from  the 
seaboard,  they  came  fro  mthe  towns,  from  the  fields,  from  the 


Assembled  Crowd  at  Time  of  Dedicating  the  Monument. 


hills  and  glades,  from  the  churches  and  the  schools,  and  they  were 
the  bravest  of  the  brave  and  the  truest  of  the  true.  In  that  great 
army  which  gathered  beneath  the  most  gallant  flag  that  ever 
waved  in  the  breeze  and  led  by  the  greatest  soldier  who  ever  drew 
a  sword  was  this  Southern  boy,  the  product  of  Southern  soil  and 
Southern  environment. 

He  enlisted  as  a  member  of  Company  A,  1st  Tennessee  Regi- 
ment, and  in  1863  was  assigned  for  duty  to  the  scouting  party 
under  the  commland  of  Captain  Shaw,  of  General  Cheatham's  Di- 
vision.   Shaw  as  commander  of  the  scout  went  by  the  name  of 


18 


SAM  DAVIS 


Coleman.  We  can  well  understand  why  Davis  should  have  had 
such  a  duty  to  perform,  for  the  scout  must  be  self-reliant  and  self- 
poised,  a  good  horseman,  intelligent,  and,  above  all,  a  man  to  be 
trusted  in  every  emergency  and  in  every  peril. 

Tennessee  was  then  within  the  Federal  lines,  and  Captain  Shaw 
intrusted  to  Davis  certain  papers  and  maps  giving  important  and 
accurate  information  of  the  movements,  strength,  and  fortifica- 
tions of  the  enemy,  and  these  were  to  be  delivered  to  General 
Bragg,  whose  headquarters  were  at  Missionary  Ridge.  The  mission 
on  which  he  was  sent  was  full  of  hazard.  The  chances  of  capture 
and  death  were  many ;  those  of  success  were  few.  But  the  stout 
young  heart  never  quailed,  and  boldly  he  entered  the  enemy's  lines 
without  a  thought  of  personal  danger,  with  no  other  feeling  ani- 
mating his  bosom  save  duty,  and  without  a  hope  save  to  perform 
it  well. 

When  about  fifteen  miles  below  Pulaski  he  was  intercepted  and 
captured  by  a  detachment  from  a  Kansas  regiment,  and  upon  be- 
ing searched  a  letter  to  General  Bragg  was  found  in  one  of  his 
boots,  maps  and  descriptions  of  fortifications  in  his  saddle  seat, 
and  other  papers  upon  his  person.  These  were  delivered  to  Gen- 
eral Dodge,  commanding  the  Federal  forces,  and  Davis  was  hur- 
ried to  Pulaski  and  lodged  in  jail.  The  papers  in  possession  of 
Davis  were  so  accurate  and  the  information  so  important  that 
General  Dodge  suspected  they  had  been  given  by  one  of  his  own 
officers,  and  he  was  very  solicitous  to  know  from  Davis  himself 
where  and  from  whom  the  papers  had  been  obtained. 

He  was  taken  to  headquarters  and  closely  questioned  by  the 
commanding  general,  who,  failing  to  get  the  responses  he  wished, 
finally  said  to  him :  "You  are  a  young  man  and  do  not  seem  to 
realize  your  situation."  And  to  this  Davis  replied :  "I  know  my 
danger  and  am  willing  to  take  the  consequences."  Evidently 
struck  with  the  lofty  and  intrepid  spirit  and  the  manly  bearing  of 
one  so  young,  and  wishing  if  possible  to  save  his  life,  General 
Dodge  explained  that  he  would  have  to  be  court-martialed  under 
the  laws  of  war  and  that  the  sentence  of  death  would  certainly  be 
inflicted,  but  that  he  would  save  his  life  if  he  would  give  the  in- 
formation which  he  asked. 

Davis  never  hesitated,  for  to  his  knightly  soul  the  bargain  was 


SAM  DA  VIS 


19 


a  dishonorable  one,  to  seP  his  honor  for  his  life.  With  modesty, 
but  with  decision  written  in  every  lineament  of  his  face,  he  an- 
swered :  "I  know  that  I  will  have  to  die,  but  I  will  not  tell  where 
I  got  the  information,  and  there  is  no  power  on  earth  that  can 
make  me  tell.  You  are  doing  your  duty  as  a  soldier  and  I  am  do- 
ing mine.  If  I  have  to  die,  I  will  do  so  feeling  I  am  doing  my 
duty  to  my  God  and  my  country." 

General  Dodge  offered  still  another  chance  to  save  his  life, 
but  Davis  made  the  interview  final  when  he  said :  "It  is  useless 
to  talk  to  me ;  I  do  not  intend  to  do  it.  You  can  court-miartial  me 
or  do  anything  else  you  like,  but  I  will  not  betray  the  trust  re- 
posed in  me."  With  the  inborn  courtesy  of  a  man  whom  promise 
could  not  betray  or  danger  make  afraid,  this  young  knight  of  the 
South  thanked  General  Dodge  for  the  interest  he  had  shown,  and 
was  led  back  to  the  prison  to  await  his  doom.  A  court-martial 
was  ordered,  and  under  its  stern  mandate  the  sentence  of  death 
was  passed  in  the  most  ignominious  form. 

Davis  had  expected  that  he  would  be  shot  as  a  soldier ;  but  the 
sentence  was  that  he  be  hung  as  a  spy,  and  the  hours  of  the  exe- 
cution were  fixed  between  the  hours  of  ten  in  the  morning  and 
two  in  the  evening.  He  received  the  sentence  of  the  military  tribu- 
nal with  composure,  and  never  once  did  he  give  way  to  lamenta- 
tion or  useless  grief.  His  thoughts  were  busy,  though,  and  they 
flew  back  to  home  and  mother.  ,The  invisible  chord  was  touched, 
whose  music  is  sweeter  than  any  lute  touched  by  mortal  hand,  and 
from  his  soul  came  one  last  pure  tone  before  the  casket  which  held 
the  jewel  of  an  immortal  life  fell  and  was  broken  forever.  On 
the  night  before  his  execution  he  wrote  this  farewell  to  his  moth- 
er from  his  prison  cell : 

"Pulaski,  Giles  County,  Tenn.,  Nov.  26,  1863. 

"Dear  Mother:  O,  how  painful  it  is  to  write  you  !  I  have  got 
to  die  tomorrow  morning — to  be  hanged  by  the  Federals.  Mother, 
do  not  grieve  for  me.  I  must  bid  you  good-by  forevermore. 
Mother,  I  do  not  fear  to  die.   Give  my  love  to  all. 

"Your  son,  Samuel  Davis." 

This  breathes  the  love  of  his  heart,  and  is  in  full  accord  with  his 
fine,  manly  nature.  There  is  no  complaint,  no  bravado,  no  fierce 
invective  against  his  captors,  no  storm  of  passion  against  his  ac- 


20 


SAM  DAVIS 


cusers,  no  craven  fear  of  death.  In  simple,  unadorned  statement 
the  awful  fate  which  the  day  will  bring,  in  forgetfulness  of  self, 
in  the  last  wish  that  there  shall  be  no  useless  brief,  but  that  he 
shall  not  be  forgotten  when  dead,  this  boy  seems  to  have  been  en- 
dowed with  a  spirit  above  morality,  and  an  angel  must  have  come 
from  on  high  to  have  guarded  him  that  night,  and  sweet  were  the 
dreams  which  came  to  the  soldier  boy. 

When  the  morning  sun  of  an  autumn  day  rose  above  the  en- 
circling hills  in  one  of  the  most  entrancing  portions  of  Tennessee 
and  light  had  scattered  the  black  legions  of  the  night,  the  boy  rose 


At  the  Monument  Alter  the  Dedication 

even  as  a  son  of  light,  clear  as  its  rays,  beautiful  as  its  myriad 
forms.  Early  in  the  morning  the  drumbeats  are  heard  vexing  the 
air  with  ominous  and  baleful  sounds.  Men  in  blue  uniforms  are 
hurrying  in  rank.  The  regiment  is  formed,  arms  are  shouldered, 
the  bugle  is  sounded,  the  march  is  begun.  It  was  not  necessary — 
only  a  useless  formality  of  war — to  send  so  many  men  against 
one  defenseless  boy;  but  all  the  soldiers  who  ever  trod  the  earth 
could  not  make  him  afraid,  for  his  heart  was  pure  as  Arthur's  of 


SAM  DAVIS 


21 


the  Round  Table,  his  courage  as  high  as  all  the  legions  of  Julius 
Caesar. 

A  wagon  was  driven  up  to  the  jail.  Davis  was  escorted  from 
his  cell  and  climbed  upon  it.  Standing  erect,  he  looked  around 
and  waved  his  hands  to  two  other  Confederate  prisoners  who  had 
been  captured  and  who  were  confined  in  another  part  of  the  jail. 
This  alone  would  be  enough  to  show  the  utter  absence  of  fear, 
the  cool  collection  of  all  his  faculties.  And  when  the  curtain  has 
rung  down  upon  this  act  in  the  noblest  drama  the  world  has  seen 
of  all  life's  tragedies,  we  might  dismiss  the  two  Confederates  who 
were  left  in  the  prison,  as  they  do  those  characters  on  the  mimic 
board  who,  having  played  their  small  parts,  are  heard  and  seen 
no  more.  But  fate  has  woven  these  two  into  the  very  texture  of 
the  story  of  this  immortal  death. 

One  of  them  was  Joshua  Brown,  a  fellow-scout,  who  had  also 
been  captured  by  the  Federals  and  who  has  lived  to  add  his  testi- 
mony to  these  stirring  events ;  while  the  other  was  Captain  Shaw, 
the  chief  of  scouts,  the  very  person  who  had  given  the  papers  to 
Davis  with  instructions  to  deliver  them  to  General  Bragg.  Here 
again  each  succeeding  scene  heightens  in  human  interest,  the  color 
becomes  deeper,  and  Davis  looms  in  heroic  form  greater  and 
greater  ith  each  passing  moment.  It  is  said  that  Brown  and 
Shaw  knew  of  the  terms  of  the  offer  of  life  to  Davis ;  and  when 
the  salutation  came,  Shaw  exclaimed  as  if  answering  the  question 
which  he  himself  had  asked  and  upon  which  his  life  depended : 
'He  will  never  tell." 

General  Dodge  said  that  he  did  not  know  until  after  Shaw  had 
been  sent  to  the  North  as  a  prisoner  of  war  that  he  was  the  person 
who  had  given  the  papers  and  information  to  Davis  to  be  carried 
to  Bragg,  and  that  if  Davis  had  told  him  his  own  life  would  surely 
have  been  saved  and  that  Shaw  would  have  met  his  fate.  But 
why,  some  may  ask,  did  not  Shaw  himself  cry  out  when  he  saw 
this  boy  led  to  his  death:  "I  alone  am  responsible;  this  young 
man  was  under  my  orders;  he  only  obeyed;  if  any  one  is  to  die, 
let  it  be  me  ?" 

Ah,  it  was  asking  too  much,  for  Shaw,  brave  as  he  was  and 
willing  as  thousands  are  to  meet  death  when  it  comes,  like  mil- 
lions more,  would  avert  it  until  the  last  hour,  for  his  life  was 


22 


SAM  DAVIS 


more  precious  to  him  than  the  life  of  another  man.  But  if  Shaw 
hung  in  his  stead  and  the  story  of  Damon  and  Pythias,  coming 
down  to  us  from  the  mists  of  antiquity,  would  have  been  re- 
had  possessed  the  heart  and  soul  of  Davis  he  would  have  been 
peated ;  but  not  in  all  respects,  for  in  the  ancient  story  both  the 
friends  were  saved  and  in  the  modern  one  must  surely  die.  foi 
Dionysius,  tyrant  though  he  was,  could  spare  for  fidelity,  but  war 
knows  neither  age  nor  youth  nor  pity.  Shaw  acted  just  as  others 
would  have  acted. 

Davis  acted  as  only  he  could  act.  He  sat  on  the  coffin  in  the 
wagon  which  was  to  hold  his  body  when  his  spirit  had  fled,  and 
no  king  in  the  robes  of  purple  was  ever  more  princely  than  this 
young  man  in  his  faded  uniform,  and  none  has  ever  lived  to  rule 
a  people  who  had  as  fine  a  soul  beneath  the  royal  robe,  for  Davis 
gave  his  life,  and  it  was  all  he  had  to  give.  To  save  it  was  worth 
to  him  all  the  domains  of  all  the  rulers  of  earth.  It  was  above  the 
price  of  all  the  jewels  that  ever  glittered  in  coronets.  But,  pre- 
cious as  it  was,  it  was  not  worth  his  honor  and  his  sense  of  duty. 
When  the  scaffold  is  reached  Davis  mounts  it  as  if  he  is  ascend- 
ing a  throne.  He  asks  with  perfect  composure  how  long  he  has 
to  live,  and  is  told  that  fifteen  minutes  is  all  of  life  that  is  left. 

There  is  the  dangling  rope  that  is  to  strangle  the  fair  young 
throat  and  stop  the  parting  breath.  Davis  asks  for  news  of  the 
war,  and  is  told  of  the  reverses  of  the  Confederates  at  Missionary 
Ridge.  He  expresses  his  regret,  and  then  with  a  tinge  of  sadness 
says :   "The  boys  will  have  to  fight  their  battles  without  me." 

The  hearts  of  his  executioners  were  melted  with  pity  that  one 
so  young  had  to  die,  and  the  duty  which  stern  war  had  imposed 
upon  them  could  not  prevent  the  signs  from  being  manifested. 
The  executioner  even  apologized  for  his  cruel  work,  then  Davis 
assured  him  that  he  did  not  blame  him,  that  he  knew  he  was  only 
doing  his  duty.  A  courier  was  sent  from  the  headquarters  of 
General  Dodge,  and  again  his  life  was  offered  to  him  for  his  se- 
cret; but  he  again  refused  to  divulge  it,  and  finally  said:  "I 
would  die  a  thousand  deaths  before  I  would  betray  a  friend." 

How  sweet  it  is  to  live !  how  hard  it  is  to  die !  What  efforts  do 
we  make  to  ward  off  the  end !  How  we  struggle  with  brain  and 
hand  for  existence,  for  the  world's  triumphs  and  its  joys!  How 


SAM  DAVIS 


23 


we  ply  the  oar  blades  in  those  frail  barks  which  hold  mortality 
and  resist  as  long  as  we  can  the  onward  sweep  of  the  waters  of 
that  strange  river  which  poets  call  the  river  of  life !  But  whether 
we  will  or  not,  our  boats  sail  out  on  the  mystic  sea,  vanish  from 
sight,  and  from  out  of  the  darkness  never  a  light  is  seen.  Did 
this  young  man  want  to  live  as  he  stood  there  like  a  day  god  and 
saw  the  dangling  noose,  the  mark  of  infamy  and  civilization's 
badge  of  barbarism  ?  His  mind  was  clear,  the  blood  of  youth  was 
coursing  and  leaping  in  his  veins.  He  had  built  his  castle  in  the 
air. 


Memorial  Service  at  the  Davis  Home, 


Life  was  before  him  and  earth  around  him,  with  its  untasted 
joys,  its  unknown  sorrows ;  mother  at  home  and  loved  ones  were 
not  far  away.  But  this  boy  gave  them  all  for  his  honor,  and 
looked  death  in  the  face  without  a  murmur  and  without  a  tremor. 
The  minutes  flew,  the  clock  struck,  the  noose  is  adjusted,  the  black 
cap  is  drawn,  and  the  slender  figure,  unspotted  with  sin.  is  writh- 
ing and  twisting  between  earth  and  heaven.  The  bells  ceased 
ringing,  the  red  currents  stopped  and  congealed  in  their  courses, 
all  motion  ceased,  death  had  come,  the  bark  was  out  at  sea,  and  the 
"breathing  miracle  into  silence  passed." 

How  can  I  speak  of  this  man  and  his  death  ?   What  power  can 


24 


SAM  DAVIS 


come  t  ome  to  tell  of  the  pathos,  the  deep  meaning  of  it  all  ?  It  is 
above  and  beyond  the  power  of  words.  It  rises  from  the  earth 
and  reaches  heaven.  As  looking  upon  the  restless  billows  of  the 
ocean  or  the  blue  of  the  sky,  the  mind  cannot  formulate  its  mus- 
ings or  express  the  thoughts  which  are  stirred,  but  falls  back 
weary,  dejected,  mystified,  and  all  the  philosophers  of  the  world, 
all  of  the  cults,  all  our  faith  cannot  help  us  to  understand.  But 
the  sea  and  the  sky  are  so  familiar  that  only  once  and  anon  do 
their  mysteries  come  upon  us  with  profound  and  conscious  force, 
accentuating  our  smallness  in  the  divine  plan,  leaving  us  like  chil- 
dren in  the  dark,  without  a  hand  to  guide. 

So  it  is  with  the  life  and  death  of  Davis.  They  are  familiar  to 
every  schoolboy  in  Tennessee,  the  theme  of  orators  and  the  sub- 
ject of  verse.  But  at  last  when  the  mind,  chased  of  all  fugitive 
thoughts  and  purged  of  all  grossness,  views  the  scaffold  and  the 
rope,  we  see  at  our  very  doors  a  scene  which  for  human  grandeur 
and  sublimity  reaches  the  ultimate  of  human  conception,  and  in 
the  sweep  of  years  will  grow  to  yet  more  splendid  proportions. 
No  one  with  brush  or  chisel  or  pen,  with  thought  or  tongue  of  elo- 
quence is  able  to  reach  the  heights  which  this  boy  trod  when  he 
gave  his  innocent  life  that  day.  Blind  Homer,  who  sang  the  story 
of  Troy ;  Milton,  who  told  of  the  loss  of  Paradise ;  Shakespeare, 
who  sounded  every  depth  and  touched  every  shore  of  humanity, 
nor  all  the  other  masters  can  nothing  add  and  nothing  take  from 
the  simple  majesty  which  clothes  the  death  of  Davis. 

On  Calvary  the  Son  of  God  died  with  cruel  nails  driven  through 
his  quivering  flesh,  the  crown  of  thorns  pressing  down  upon  his 
agonized  brow,  and  since  then  the  cross  has  been  the  Christian's 
sign  in  every  land ;  and  which  of  us  has  the  right  to  say  that  He 
who  created  the  earth  and  the  sky  and  every  living  thing  on  sea 
and  land,  whose  mysteries  baffle,  but  whose  providence  is  over  all, 
could  give  the  son  of  Mary  to  teach  men  how  to  live  could  not 
also  give  this  son  of  Tennessee  to  teach  men  how  to  die? 

Before  concluding  I  wish  to  invite  your  attention  to  what  seems 
to  me  a  beautiful  and  most  appropriate  conception  of  the  commit- 
tee who  have  had  charge  of  this  work  and  who  have  so  unselfishly 
and  patriotically  performed  their  labors.  The  figure  of  Sam  Da- 
vis when  the  veil  is  lifted.will  reveal  the  genius  of  the  sculptor  and 


SAM  DAVIS 


25 


will  stand,  as  will  be  observed,  on  a  pedestal  and  surrounded  by 
marble  quarried  from  the  hills  of  Tennessee  in  the  center  of  a 
heart-shaped  inclosure,  suggesting  at  once  the  thought  that  his 
name  and  memory  live  in  the  great  heart  of  his  native  State,  from 
whose  dust  he  came  and  to  whose  dust  he  has  returned. 

This  spot  will  be  sacred  evermore  to  those  who  love  the  pure, 
the  true,  the  brave,  for  it  is  dedicated  to  the  knightly  tenants  of 
the  soul.  Let  mothers  bring  their  children  heer  to  learn  the  story 
of  his  young  life  and  triumphant  death,  to  know  that  brave  men 
never  really  die,  that  truth  is  worth  more  than  gold,  that  honor  is 
more  precious  than  life.  Let  those  of  us  who  have  put  on  the 
armor,  met  in  the  shock  of  life's  conflict,  dealt  and  received 
wounds,  now  gather  at  this  shrine,  forget  the  petty  rivalries  which 
gnaw  at  the  soul  and  fetter  the  pionions  of  noble  aspiration,  and 
at  the  feet  of  Sam  Davis  remember  that  we  too  are  Tennesseeans ; 
that  here  we  meet  on  common  ground,  and  from  this  holy  precinct 
let  us  go  to  forgive  and  forget.  With  his  memory  and  its  pervad- 
ing inspiration  let  us  face  the  future  and  bring  to  the  service  of 
our  State  and  our  country  a  higher  measure  of  responsibility, 
deeper  and  truer  conceptions  of  duty. 

In  the  name  of  Tennessee,  illustrious  in  peace  and  war,  whose 
star  has  shone  resplendently  in  the  glorious  canopy  of  the  Union 
for  more  than  a  century  of  time,  and  whose  luster  is  undimmed 
by  the  passing  years,  I  receive  this  statue  of  her  soldier  boy. 

I  speak  for  every  living  man  who  wore  the  gray,  whose  sands 
of  life  are  running  swift  and  low,  on  whose  ears  soon  the  last 
command  will  come  to  pitch  their  white  tents  on  the  silent  fields 
and  wait  for  the  resurrection  morn ;  for  the  dead  who  sleep  and 
molder  in  unknown  graves  from  the  Potomac  to  the  Southern 
Seas,  whose  names  may  be  forgotten,  but  whose  deeds  will  live  in 
song  and  story  until  the  waves  of  time  shall  break  upon  the  death- 
less shores ;  for  the  South,  the  shades  of  whose  immortals  roam 
the  earth  in  high  procession — stronger  for  every  danger  she  has 
passed,  richer  for  every  son  whose  blood  was  shed,  dearer  for  ev- 
ery tear  that  has  fallen  from  the  eyes  of  love,  more  beautiful  for 
every  scar  that  was  has  made. 

But  when  I  speak  of  these,  let  me  recall,  for  we  should  never 
forget,  those  are  rare  women  of  the  elder  day,  who  bore  the 


26 


SAM  DAVIS 


bravst  sons  the  world  has  seen,  typified  by  the  sainted  mother  who 
brought  this,  her  firstborn,  into  the  world,  who  heard  his  first 
weak  cry,  who  nourished  him  at  her  breast  and  crooned  the  lullaby 
which  hushed  him  to  slumberland,  whose  spirit  long  ago  joined 
her  boy  in  Paradise  and  rests  with  him  in  eternal  bowers  of  bliss 
and  shares  with  him  the  smile  of  the  living  God. 


SAM  DAVIS 


27 


UNION  SOLDIER  ABOUT  SAM  DAVIS 

BY  REV.  A.  W.  BILL,  MENOMINEE,  MICH. 

I  hope  it  will  not  be  an  intrusion  if  an  old  Presbyterian  minister 
expresses  his  satisfaction  that  a  monument  has  been  erected  to 
commemorate  the  fidelity  of  young  Sam  Davis  to  what  he  con- 
sidered honor  and  duty. 

In  November,  1863,  I  was  on  duty  with  my  regiment,  the  66th 
Illinois  Infantry,  at  Pulaski,  Tenn.  I  was  a  private  serving  on 
special  detail.  The  morning  of  November  27  broke  fair  and 
warm.  We  heard  that  a  spy  was  to  be  executed  and  that  he  had 
been  offered  freedom  if  he  would  divulge  the  names  of  traitors 
who  gave  information  to  the  enemy.   He  refused  to  do  this. 

Presently  the  assembly  was  sounded.  Men  fell  into  line  and 
marched  silently  into  town  and  to  the  brow  of  a  hill  on  the  left 
of  the  road.  There  stood  a  rude  gallows.  I  went  near.  Over  at 
the  guardhouse  a  detachment  of  men  with  fixed  bayonets  began 
to  move,  and  there  was  the  sound  of  muffled  rolling  of  drums.  A 
horse  and  wagon  was  in  the  midst,  a  young  man,  his  hands  tied 
behind  him. 

At  the  scaffold  steps  Davis  got  out  and  met  a  man  and  woman 
who  I  supposed  were  his  father  and  mother.  They  conversed 
briefly,  then  Davis  walked  quietly  up  the  steps  and  stood  on  the 
trap.  The  sergeant  approached  to  tie  his  feet  and  blindfold  him. 
Davis  seemed  to  speak.  The  sergeant  paused.  Davis  lifted  his 
face  and  gazed  long  and  steadily  at  the  hills  and  fields  and  sky. 
Then  it  was  that  I  saw  the  noble  profile,  the  black  eyes,  the  close- 
pressed  lips,  the  white,  white  face  of  a  young  man  only  two  years 
and  a  little  older  than  myself,  and  who  might  have  been  earlier  a 
playmate  had  I  lived  in  Tennessee,  and  then  my  heart  gave  way. 

Davis  made  a  sign,  the  sergeant  placed  the  cap  over  his  face, 
the  trap  was  sprung,  there  was  a  convulsive  drawing  up  of  the 
knees,  a  whirling  of  the  body — and  Davis  was  gone. 

The  troops  marched  silently,  sadly  to  camp,  and  I  heard  many 
say  later :  "I  wish  that  man  could  have  gotten  away."  So  did  I 
wish  in  my  heart,  and  to  this  day,  after  all  these  years,  the  tears 
come  to  my  eyes  when  I  think  of  young  Sam  Davis.  I  am  glad 
he  has  a  monument. 


28 


SAM  DAVIS 


What  an  ordeal  our  torn  nation  went  through !  I  suppose  it 
had  to  be.  The  God  of  your  fathers  and  mine  decided,  brave  men 
thrashed  out  the  issue  at  the  bayonet  point,  and  we  abide  the  de- 
cision ;  but  the  memorials,  South  and  North.,  attest  to  an  old  sol- 
dier some  sorrows  that  no  one  knows  who  was  not  there.  You 
know  all  this,  but  it  does  my  old  heart  good  to  write  it. 


SAM  DA  VIS 


29 


LETTER  FROM  GEN.  DODGE,  UNDER   WHOM  DAVIS 
WAS  COURTMARTIALED  AND  EXECUTED 

Council  Bluffs,  Iowa,  January  27,  1911. 
James  F.  Thompson,  Griffin,  Ga. 

My  Dear  Sir: — I  am  in  receipt  of  yours  of  January  25th,  making  in- 
quiry in  relation  to  Samuel  Davis,  the  spy  who  was  executed  at  Pulaski, 
Tenn.  You  ask  if  there  was  anything  in  his  behavior  while  under  arrest 
that  would  lead  one  to  believe  he  was  a  Christian.  There  was  nothing 
occurred  between  him  and  me  that  indicated  what  his  religious  views 
were.  He  was  modest,  retiring  and  showed  respect  to  authority  in  both 
of  my  interviews  with  him.  He  evidently  had  a  Christian  faith  in  the 
cause  he  was  serving,  and  in  the  men  he  was  protecting.  I  also  know 
that  the  chaplain  who  attended  him  had  taken  quite  an  interest  in  him,  as 
well  as  Major  Armstrong,  who  was  the  Provost  Marshal.  I  think  the 
Provost  Marshal,  whose  name  is  Armstrong,  instead  of  Anderson,  is 
dead,  but  I  do  not  know  for  certain. 

Truly, 

G.  M.  DODGE. 


SAM  DA  VIS 


SAM  DA  VIS 


THE  OLD  "BLACK  MAMMY." 

She  bends  beneath  the  weight  of  years 

With  feeble  step  and  slow, 
Yet  in  her  heart  there  throbs  and  shines 

The  light  of  long  ago; 

Of  days  when  on  her  dear  old  face 

There  played  an  angel  smile, 
As  in  her  blessed  arms  she  held 

And  crooned  to  sleep  her  "Chile." 

The  color  of  a  lowly  race 

Shown  with  its  ebon  glow, 
And  yet  the  old  "Black  Mammy's"  soul 

Was  white  as  driven  snow. 

Her  toilworn  hands  were  kind  and  true, 

Through  all  her  bonded  years, 
To  "Mistiss"  and  the  little  ones, 

In  gladness  and  in  tears. 

And  through  war's  wearing  agony, 

Her  heart  was  free  from  guile, 
And  loyal  to  the  bitter  end, 

To  "Mistiss  and  her  "Chile." 

Her  ranks  are  waning  year  by  year, 

On  Southern  hill  and  plairi, 
And  when  the  last  "Black  Mammy's"  gone 

She'll  never  come  again. 

Yet,  somewhere  on  the  radiant  hills, 

Beyond  earth's  woe  and  wile, 
Her  dear  old  arms  will  fold  again, 

"Old  Mistiss"  and  her  "Chile." 

God  bless  her — till  her  weary  feet 
Shall  touch  the  shining  shore; 

God  keep  her — 'mind  the  cherubim, 
At  rest,  forevermore. 


SAM  DA  VIS 


When  these  tired  hands  are  stilled  at  last, 

And  when  these  lips  are  dumb, 
Think  kindly  of  the  life  that's  past 

In  beauteous  years  to  come. 
Not  what  I  am,  but  what  I'm  not, 

And  all  I  long  to  be, 
With  faults  and  failings  all  forgot, 

I  pray  remember  me! 

Consider  gently  each  mistake 

And  error  if  you  can, 
This  heart  that  fated  seems  to  ache 

With  all  the  woes  of  man  ; 
So  wronged  without,  so  weaic  within, 

Yet  striving  to  be  free, 
And  how  I  suffered  for  ea'  h  sin, 

O,  thus  remember  me! 

How  much  involved  in  pain's  alloy 

Each  pleasure  that  I  knew, 
How  quickly  o'er  each  beam  of  joy 

The  crowds  of  sorrow  flew; 
How  every  hope  I  cherished  fled 

As  leaves  forsake  the  tree. 
Think  how  my  heart  in  anguish  bled 

When  you  remember  me! 

Oppression  pauses  at  the  grave 

And  malice  turns  aside; 
As  calmly  rests  the  fettered  slave, 

As  sleeps  the  gentle  bride; 
And  those  who  most  condemn  me  now 

Redeeming  traits  may  see 
And  thus  my  memory  endow 

When  they  remember  me! 

\    ,  :  \l,  ;.r'.\  ■'  v.       lh  •':  . 

The  deep  soul-hunger  that  I  feel 

They  cannot  understand, 
Such  lives  attract  the  heedless  heel 

And  not  the  helpful  hand, 
Because  to  Mammon's  gilded  shrine 

They  will  not  bend  the  knee, 
But  for  that  God-like  gift  divine, 

Oh,  love  remember  me! 


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